Most of the Time
by TheFantabulousPandemonium
Summary: Romano smokes. Not very much, though, only when he's feeling stressed or wants to relax. Which is most of the time.


Romano smokes.

Not very much, though, only when he's feeling stressed or wants to relax. Which is most of the time.

He doesn't even realise it, sometimes, a hand fumbling around in a pocket while the other talks. It's all with one hand actually; the whole process of finding and lighting and taking out for a sip of coffee.

Veneziano watches absently, sipping his own coffee and adding something every now and then to the conversation. He watches the ashes drift to the dirty tile floor of the café they all like while Spain's laughter echoes in the background. Germany was there, as well, but he left a few minutes ago and now all Veneziano can do is watch. The ash tray on the table is empty, dark burns scraped into the pottery, until there is no more cigarette to smoke and Romano puts it out.

He never really understands why, when all it was doing was putting more stress on him. Veneziano remembers Austria used to smoke, too. And Prussia. And France. Maybe even America, at one point. He still doesn't get it, but Romano's reaching for another cigarette and lighting it and isn't that the seventh one today? Eighth? Veneziano frowns behind his coffee.

Romano drinks, too.

Not very much, though, only when offered or when he wants to relax. Which is most of the time.

He goes out with Spain or Prussia or England to the nearest bar when they finish their meetings, coming home late or not at all. Veneziano doesn't worry about that, though. Romano can defend himself - he had been a kingdom, once, a long time ago. He worries about his brother in other ways. Did he take enough cigarettes? Did he forget his wallet? Did Prussia try to drown him - again? Should he leave the bottle of aspirin out for him?

He tries not to smother him, but it's hard. Romano had always been independent, preferring the company of himself to others. Veneziano doesn't mind that. He tries not to get involved. He does anyway.

He likes it when Romano drinks at home the most, because he's safe and Veneziano can look after him and giggle when he drinks too much and gets sentimentally nostalgic.

Veneziano drinks with him, most of the time.

Not very much, though, as he can't handle the liquor his brother buys very well nor does he particularly like it anyways. But he drinks and so does Romano and they laugh and curse and cry until their throats are sore and they drag themselves to bed in the morning. Then they'll curse and stumble and groggily put the coffee on, sharing a quick breakfast of aspirin and whatever's left over in the fridge.

Veneziano smokes, too.

Not very often, and not much anymore, only when he's anxious. Which is most of the time.

He doesn't realise it, sometimes, finding his hands fumbling through pockets looking for something that isn't there. He uses both hands, one to hold the cigarette and the other to light.

Veneziano catches Romano staring too, sometimes, his eyes flicking up and down like his hand. He wonders what his brother sees when he's like that. Wonders if he can hear the gossip he and Spain exchange. Did he even notice Germany? Maybe, as his eyes roam the table, he's examining the ash tray, taking in all the scrapes and scratches and burns and the little chip where the white of the pottery shows on the side. There's no more cigarette left and he puts it out, carefully making sure all the little ashes make their way into the ash tray.

Romano sighs then, rather unnoticeably but he catches it, hand digging in his pocket again. That would make ten.

But he frowns instead, pulling his hand out and taking an angry sip of coffee. Gone. He's getting angry now, Veneziano can tell because his frown deepens and his eyes dart again, this time landing firmly on Germany.

He fumbles again with the pack of cigarettes, pulling two out and slipping one across the table when Spain isn't looking. Romano frowns again. Veneziano wonders if he didn't approve of him smoking, but he sighs a minute later and offers a small grin quickly hidden behind his coffee cup. He flicks the lighter open with one hand and in the same motion closes it. The clicking seems to get Spain's attention, though, and he launches into a small lecture which Romano promptly ignores. Veneziano focuses on the lighter again.

He has to learn how to do that.


End file.
